In the small bedroom, a strong perfume is needed to hide the smell of ancient booze and the ‘marginal’ characters who survive in alcohol’s wake. And in this place, it seems to be mostly guys, but not entirely. Here, they occupy in the floor above The Beauford Hotel, a welcoming place to call home. It’s run by a publican who tolerates their quirks and challenges, as long as they can self-regulate their more alienating behaviours. This pub is the bar where my first show will be this week, and also my accommodation for the duration of my stay in Newcastle, Australia. 

Marginalised is an academic word. I don’t think these residents would describe themselves as that. In their world, this place isn’t the margin, but a centre, a home, the central place where they gather their treasures, belongings, and artefacts that anchor them to this world. Academic words are just positions from lofty pedestals, where connections are made in the data, not between people. Those terms mean fuck all in the shared kitchen, where men drink beer for breakfast, share space in silent companionship, and cook enough to ensure that others, less fortunate, have something hot and substantial to eat.

My last writing focused briefly on the importance of shared and committed cultural spaces. I reckon places, like The Beauford, may also be seen as accessible and shared social spaces for a certain cohort. In these times of precarios housing, they are essential. For many, these places may be their last stop to a situation much worse. 

Maybe these places hold people together in a way, precariously, when ‘culture’ or ‘society’ isn’t so welcomingly accessible or available? It’s a weird perversity that sites of entertainment seem to be used as, in some instances, emergency accommodation.

— — —

The pool table has been moved, standing tables moved and a space of floor is cleared for the ‘stage’, an old carpeted floor in the corner of the pub on the corner of a busy road. The Wednesday night shows have become a regular feature at The Beauford, where a host of local acts, in a multitude of styles, get a chance to present their wares to whoever arrives. The set-up reminds me of assembling punk shows in pubs in the late 80’s, there’s often a hint of chaos in the air, mismatched gear is made to connect, connections are sometimes temperamental. 

Starting time rolls around, and the first band have yet to return with the rest of their equipment, so it is decided I go first. The set-up requires speed and flexibility, and ultimately, and probably not surprisingly, I have some curious technical problems throughout my set.  I’m not sure if it was within the synth or the choice of plant that I enlisted (pub plants are often wanting of care, maybe it was a little sad), but I’m sure no-one would really have noticed. It was still noisy fun. Next is a trio called Pee Wee 50’s, with a guy called Edo on bass who we played with last time we were in Newcastle, 15 years ago. They delivered a frenetic style of 50’s-ish rock and roll that contained an absolute commitment and energy that was totally convincing. Next was Obstructive, an electronics/singer duo. Hefty industrial sounds circa Ministry, but much crustier. The singer had a 9/10 Gibby Haynes (Butthole Surfers) energy about him, balaclava-clad in overalls, irrepressibly jittery, and purely committed to a vast number of backflips on the spot – even after copious quantities of colourful booze! Luke, on electronics (and the shows organiser), mentioned at times the role of the heavy steel factory played in his musical development over the years. You could hear it everywhere. And he wasn’t the only one. A resident upstairs shared similar stories about the all-encompassing industrial sounds from his father’s workplace onto his developing personal musical tastes. So, with that in mind, the sounds of Obstructive carry a specific Newcastle authenticity from a time now passed. The final act for the evening is Zipper Clone, another duo, this time drums and electronics/vocals. Theres hints of Prodigy, but also more of that industrial heaviness. Maybe it’s another example of the mechanical bombast of Newcastle’s past.

— — —

I train to Sydney the next day.  I meet Dean outside the station. We met 15 years ago when we first brought mr sterile Assembly here, his band was brilliantly named Crouching 80’s, Hidden Acronym. The friendship has sustained. This show is at the Petersham Bowling Club (PBC). The reappropriating of bowling clubs seems to be a flourishing activity. Building a new culture of alternative venues in spaces that were once active in other entertainments but now appear to be in decline. The PBC has become a community owned project, a multi-purpose venue that welcomes all, with the seemingly specific purpose of community-care in mind. One fascinating recent story is that the PBC, once acquired by the community, made the bold decision to remove ALL the pokies machines, generally a staple of revenue. It seems that the club is turning MORE profit now without the extractive, addiction-inducing, pokies machines than when they were haunting the clubs’ hallways like some vampiric robot.

First on the lineup was Rapacity, a solo act in which the drummer also plays an ingenious foot-bass  (that has a pitch-controller attached to one of the drumsticks for note adjustment), vocals, noise, and loops. It was an exciting concoction of d-beat, noise, and collaged sounds. An impressive amount of noise from one human. Next was S.C.U.M, named after the Valerie Solonas manifesto, the Society for Cutting Up Men. A harsh noise project that infused beats, industrial chain and metal sheet percussion, and some prerecorded spoken-word. It was compact and visceral.  I played last, and all the electronics, plant and circuit, performed much more reliably than the previous evening. And even more wonderful was that in the audience were two people who I had met separately at Jogja Noise Bombing in 2024, and someone else who attended our talk at Ting Shuo Hear Say in Tainan, Taiwan, at the end of 2025. It would seem, after all, that it is indeed a small world.

— — —

Some mooching around Sydney occurred on the Friday morning, visiting the record store 19th Nervous Breakdown, which is the new iteration of the once-upon-a-time Black Wire Records, the store that we first played in 15 years ago. 19th now stock a few copies of vma albums available for purchase – go visit your local music dealer.

After lunch, we left in the direction of Wollongong for that evenings show at Van-Q. The store is an eclectic secondhand clothing store at first glance. But walk to the end of the store, turn right, and put off the, appears a cute stage in all its pending raucous glory. Mild-mannered store by day, rocking all-ages venue in the evening! It’s a very sweet spot.

AcaciaFire is the first of four acts. A bass/drum/gat trio that give me Fugazi/Shellac/Slint vibes, but maybe none of them are references, and this is just me showing my age. Very tasty compositions that swing and swoon between lush and heavy. Next is the band with the best name, Penguinsarentrealandneitherarewe. Bass/drums/gat/and dual vocals. Ambitious songs with bold dynamics, screamo in style, and a combination of melodic vocals and full-throated roaring. Dancing ensued. I am third and deliver as fully as I hoped to.  And finally, Saw in Half finish the evening. A spectacular racket! Fantastic compositions, honed through years of individual graft, culminating into an intense and explosive presentation. It’s feisty and fierce. And this leaves me elevated, as I walk the midnight streets of Wollongong to the backpackers, where I spend a tiny number of hours snoozing before the bus to Canberra in the morning.

— — —

The last show in this block of four is at You Are Here in Canberra, which is the first show they have run in the newly acquired space. I glean small bits of info on how this collaborative project is set up to help support and nurture the development of local creative communities. Alongside this, others are trying to identify empty spaces in the city and do ‘reverse gentrification’, bring artists and creativity back into the Canberra CBD, as part of a revitalisation project.

Feemer is the first act, a solo performance of pedals, guitar, vocals and laptop. It’s a fascinating presentation in the insistence of keeping everything so deliberately quiet and empty, there was plenty of interesting sonic textures weaving in and out – volume is easy, holding the quietness in place takes a particular type of bravery. It was beautiful. Sound artist Sandy Ma follows with a performance based upon their body of work ‘Touching Wires’, an interactive woven mat threaded with circuitry, generating sound upon physical contact. She was presenting a workshop the following day that I couldn’t attend, but I would like to have found out more about the thinking behind the work. It also makes me think about the place of ‘installation’ projects in ‘performance’ spaces – where audiences differ and varying degrees of information are conveyed. This is something very relevant to the vma project, I want it to stand both on its own sonic merit, as well as being able to present to a more talk-based audience. It’s an interesting tension to negotiate. I think Ma’s work totally stands on its sonic merit, and I like being left with questions. Harland Rust followed. A duo of electronics, laptop, and bass guitar, presenting a field of tectonic subs and tinnitus hiss, augmented with some fingering of the bass, adding unpredicted textures into the maelstrom. Reuben Ingall was fourth in the lineup, bringing to the stage a bread crate of electronics and a microwave. He then proceeded to overcooked a pie, setting the cooker to 20 minutes, using the sound of the machine as a background palette for a collage of sounds and words. It was the cutest thing I’ve seen to date on this tour, I liked it very much.

— — —

Sunday night in Goulburn, a small town with a strong rural feel. I’m sitting by a gas fire, waiting for the midnight train to Melbourne. I had to go north from Canberra, wait four hours before finally being able to go south. There is a small halo of warmth being emitted from the fireplace, but outside, it feels like a frost will arrive before the train.